


Holding It Together

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bedside Vigils, Clint Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Jasper is a good friend, M/M, Presumed Dead, So is Natasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 11:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7435537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil's car explodes. Clint's not hoping for a miracle save or anything, just for a way to get through the days. Natasha brings him news that Phil might be alive, and Jasper makes sure they're all awake when Phil finally comes out of it. (or your standard h/c trope-a-palooza)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding It Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shazrolane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shazrolane/gifts).



Clint stood next to the hospital bed and stared, unblinking, at Phil’s slack, pale face. Phil’s lips looked thin and colorless, and the dark smudges under his eyes couldn’t be wiped away. Clint knew because he’d tried. He’d tapped Phil’s cheek and whispered, “Wake up, don’t leave me,” like the damsel in an old romance, and he’d run his fingers down Phil’s face, under his eyes, hoping that the pale skin was from poor lighting in the cave and the dark circles from dirt on the cold stone floor.

The hospital was cold, too. Clint shivered and wrapped his arms tighter across his chest, but it didn’t help. Clint listened to the monitors drone and stared at Phil’s unmoving lips and startled himself by running, “Wake up, don’t leave me” through his head over and over as he watched Phil sleep.

_“Clint,” Natasha had said, two days ago, as she climbed the utility ladder to the roof where Clint was sitting, holding his body in a tight ball and staring blankly at the city scape before him. “There’s been a development. Don’t fall off the roof,” she added as he whipped his head around to watch her climb over and sit down next to him._

_“What development,” he’d demanded. He kept himself tight. Falling off the roof was a possibility if the development concerned Phil. Phil whose car had been blown to smithereens six weeks ago as Clint watched the flames, helpless, from a rooftop two blocks away. It probably didn’t have anything to do with that, though._

_Phil was dead and Clint was left with rooftop views, two missions, and no feelings one way or the other about any of it. He’d been shuffling through his days, forgetting to eat until Nat pushed a plate of pasta or grilled chicken into his hands at nine o’clock at night._

_“One of our double agents found a report of a SHIELD agent being held hostage near an AIM facility in Tennessee,” she’d said three days ago, and she pressed her hand to his arm like she thought he really might go over the edge, in one sense or another. “They think it’s Phil.”_

_His heart raced like it was running to Tennessee right now, and he stared at her, eyes wide and unblinking. “He died. His car,” he stuttered, and words just wouldn’t go together right. He closed his eyes for a second again._

_“Might’ve been a plant,” she said. ” There was nothing left for us to test; even Nick said the KIA status was because of visual evidence only.”_

_Clint couldn’t hold back a flinch at the word KIA._

_“Our guy got a good visual and even sent coordinates.” She paused and brushed her hand through his wind-blown hair that had gotten too long in Phil’s absence. “Even if it’s not Phil, we’re sending a team to get the guy out.”_

_Clint sat silently watching the city lights pop on as dusk fell into night. “He died,” he whispered. He’d been unable to say the words until this moment, like his brain wouldn’t let them out when they were true, and now, when it might not hold, it was okay to let them out.  “I miss him.”_

_“I know,” she replied. She had been keeping him fed, had been tolerating his retreat, and he’d been overly aggressive in their sparring sessions. He’d also been mostly silent for six weeks, not giving her what she needed, either._

_He leaned into her touch. “They really think it’s him?”_

_“Our guy seems to be sure.”_

_“Not getting my hopes up.”_

_“Probably best, really,” she answered, and he rested his head on her shoulder._

_“When do we leave?”_

Now, she pushed a wrapped hospital cafeteria hamburger into his chest and its warmth startled him into grabbing it from her. When he realized what it was, he pushed it back toward her. “Not hungry.”

“Don’t care. Eat it,” she replied. “It’s been fifteen hours since you had anything and he’s not going anywhere because you eat.” She stepped away, so he couldn’t shove it into her hands.

So he stared down at the wrapper and then over at Phil again, and blew a hard breath out and closed his eyes for a second. Just that second was enough to make him blink them open again frantically, was enough for the fear that this might be a dream to wiggle back into his chest, was enough for his breathing to get out of whack again.

Phil lay there thin and struggling to stay alive, and the ice-cold dread in Clint’s belly wouldn’t be warmed by a hamburger, but he ate anyway.

“Did you talk to the doctors today?” She asked around a bite of her own sandwich.

“Same news. Unknown poison. Not sure if he’ll wake. His organ function is declining..” Clint heard the flat sound of his own voice and looked over at Natasha. She was watching Phil as carefully as Clint was. She was on guard, too, floundering hard at the state they’d found him in.

_“It’s a cave,” Clint whispered over the comms as he crept closer to the entrance. He and Natasha had already taken out four guards, and he saw two more standing about fifteen feet in front of him._

_“What the fuck,” Jasper replied. “Distance from base?” He asked a beat later._

_“About a quarter mile is all,” Nat answered. The low sound of her voice reminded Clint of the growl of a cat before it struck its prey._

_“Backup?” Jasper asked._

_“Negative.” No, Clint and Nat were more than confident they could take out these two guards and whatever other idiot was standing between them and Phil._

_And they did. In two minutes the cave was clear except for a body lying on a gurney near the back. Clint shoved his bow onto his back and knelt down, breathing hard. “Phil?” He whispered as he rolled the body over. Natasha gasped and nausea pooled in Clint’s belly._

_“Don’t leave me, Phil,” he muttered, “Please wake up.” The doctors told them it was poison, and only Phil’s strength could fight it. They had no antidote. If he woke, it would mean his body was mending. If he didn’t, well. It was ‘up to Phil,’ they said._

_Clint felt his steely confidence in Phil shake for the first time since they’d met ten years ago._

He didn’t sleep for the first twenty-eight hours. He stood at Phil’s bed rail for eight, sat with the chair an inch from the bed for twenty, and finally let Nat stand guard while he dozed in a recliner Jasper dragged in from a nearby break room for about six. He jerked awake with a rush of fear, and “Is he dead?” On his lips.

Nat was there, her cool hands on his cheeks. “He’s safe, Clint. He’s still here.”

He stood and watched Phil’s chest rise and fall before he believed her. Jasper was standing in the corner, looking like he’d slept in his suit, and he added, “No change. Waiting on the bastard to open his eyes.”

“Or die,” Clint muttered. He couldn't help it.

Jasper sighed behind him. “I’ll go get food,” he said.

Clint just stood by Phil’s bed and stared, cataloguing every centimeter of his sleeping face, memorizing the way his eyebrows furrowed, his eyelashes laid on his cheeks, his cheekbones poked too much, and his lips pressed together. He could practically feel Phil's lips on his, the last time they kissed. It had been quick, both on their way to the new mission, the one that was supposed to be in and out, the one that had ended with fire that still burned  in Clint’s brain.

At the forty hour mark Natasha and Jasper pushed Clint back into the chair and dimmed the lights almost to dark. This time Clint came up screaming.

Jasper had obviously pushed Nat to go to her quarters and sleep because he was the only one there, frantically repeating, “Clint, stop. Clint, he’s still here. Clint wake the fuck up!”

Clint clawed his way to sitting up and his breaths sounded like a windshield wiper on dry glass, so he grabbed Jasper’s arm and tried to slow them down.

Jasper knelt next to him. “On my count, Clint. Come on. In for one, two, three out for one, two three,” and Clint followed his orders, stared at Phil while he did it, and finally looked up at Jasper and nodded.

“Sorry, man,” he whispered. He ran his hand down his face and over the short beard that had started in his neglect. It felt like steel wool and reminded him he hadn’t had a shower since they left to go find Phil. He stood again and moved to the rail where his hands were threatening to make an actual indentation in the metal.

It had been two days and six hours when Phil finally opened his darkened eyes and followed Clint’s orders. Clint sucked in a sharp breath, swallowed thickly and leaned over the bed rail. He brushed his hand through Phil’s thin, whispy hair. “Hey,” He said, and he tried to smile, but it just wouldn’t come. Tears came instead, tracking down his cheeks.

Jasper reached around him and pressed the call button and took his phone out of his pocket and thumbed in a quick code to Natasha.

Phil’s eyes were dull with fatigue, but he tried to smile, and Clint couldn’t control the hurricane of emotion roiling through his body. He bit his lip in an effort to pull himself the fuck together, but it didn’t work very well. He managed to hold a cup of tepid water out in his shaking hand for Phil to drink slowly as the doctor came in the room. Jasper pulled Clint to the side, which, fine, he understood, but he stayed where he could see Phil’s open eyes and held onto them like a lifeline as he stood in the corner and trembled.

Phil was asleep again before Clint could get back to his side, but the doctors told the three of them that Phil was on the up side of everything now. His tox screen came back showing that his body had finally decided to start fighting, and Jasper grumbled, “Took his goddamned time,” before he wandered off. As he left the room, he added, “You get five hours or until he wakes up again, Barton, and then a shower and actual nap in a bed. You stink and he’s gonna be pissed at me if you end up sick.”

Natasha nodded and pulled Clint to her side. “I’ll make sure of it,” she told Jasper.

Clint looked at her and saw lines of exhaustion on her face, so he figured he probably looked like a corpse himself. He rested his head on her shoulder. Her black Stark Industries sweatshirt was soft, and her grip on his waist was steady. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

He reached his arm around hers in a gentle hug. “I maybe didn’t handle any of the last six weeks well at all. You’ve been mourning, too.”

She was silent for a beat. “And now it’s over. We’re done mourning and we have him back. That’s what matters.”

“Still sorry,” he whispered.

“I never knew what it was like to have someone to hold together until I met you. You gave me that. If anything, we’re even,” she answered, stroking his rough cheek.

Phil woke again at precisely five hours, as Jasper came into the room for Clint. Natasha dragged Jasper out and left Clint with Phil. Clint picked up Phil’s hand in his and stroked it rhythmically.

“You found me,” Phil said. His voice was paper thin, but somehow filled with fondness.

“Didn't know to look for a while,” Clint answered. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Phil’s warm cheek. It was almost impossible to pull away again.

Phil nodded. “They were clever. But at least their drug didn’t do me in the way they thought it would.”

“It almost did me in,” Clint said with a weak smile.

“Nat and Jasper held you together?”

“Turns out having friends is good,” Clint answered.

“Told you.” Phil’s hand slipped from Clint’s again, and his eyes drooped. “I’m no good for much. Gonna sleep again.”

Clint nodded and kissed him again. “Me, too. See you soon.”

Phil dropped off and Clint wandered out into the hallway where Jasper and Natasha were leaning on the wall, waiting.

“Me and Nat are gonna get some sleep and some food. You good, Jasper?” He stated.

Jasper held up a book and a pillow. “Came prepared. I’ve got him for a while.”

“I can stay,” Nat said, glaring at Clint.

“Nope. We’re crashing. You need it, too.”

Jasper waved and went into Phil’s room, and Clint dragged Nat down the hall. They managed to get into a couple of pairs of sweats and two ratty old t-shirts before they crashed in Clint’s bed. They slept for fourteen hours, both of them, and when they got back to Phil’s room, Jasper had a checker set out and he was moving Phil’s pieces on his orders.

Phil was winning.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know I still have a work-in-progress, but writer's block is getting the best of me. This was an attempt to write around it. So I hope this is angsty enough to hold for a bit. Thanks for reading! This is also for shell, who added presumed dead to the trope wish-list request I made on tumblr.


End file.
